Page 72 of Don't Be in Love
Don’t Underestimate Gossip — Adelaide
I underestimated British society’s interest in the Blackwoods and the power of gossip.
“Dorian Blackwood Is London’s Most Eligible Bachelor Again”— The Scandal Sheet
I read the article at least twelve times. And then I passed it to Iris, Dotty, and Mia, before they looked at me with worried eyes and sent me to the café down the street to take a tea break.
The article commented on the status of Dorian and Victoria’s relationship: “not as solid as our sources had believed.” And followed it up with evidence from the masquerade: “Blackwood was spotted devoting his attention to a young woman, who was not Sutton, the whole night.”
Gossip in nooks spread quickly.
I took another sip of the bitter tea in front of me to calm my stomach and remind myself of one very important thing: no one knew it was me. There was no description of me or even the color of my dress. Apparently just the mention of another woman in Dorian’s presence was enough gossip to publish an article that’d rile Britain’s dating pool.
Coming to a café was a fun idea in theory. The same way going on a run was a fun idea in theory, until it started raining and you were being partially threatened by your professor.
Since catching Sylvie at Big Ben’s Bakery, I was too scared to go back. The idea of seeing her and she immediately realizing that I’d been with Dorian—many times—since her “advice,” made me ill. She’d look me right in the eye, recognize my inability to follow rules, and email the Board. Then they’d rip my telephone booth keychain right off my cork board, put me on a blacklist for every tourist shop that sold a Paddington Bear, and tear up my passport. I’d never be allowed back in England and my dream of working at Beverly would disappear.
Maybe that was dramatic, but they may as well at that point. If my tuition wasn’t covered, then I couldn’t afford my degree.
I shivered at the image—and from the door to the café opening and letting another cold gust of wind in.
No Sylvies here at least. Just a variety of university students in cable knit sweaters with scarves thrown over the backs of their chairs while they tapped away on their laptops and pretended to read emails.
One girl at the table in front of me wasn’t even pretending. She was three articles deep into this Dorian Mistress Drama. (That’s what they were calling it.) One night together and a kiss months later and I was a mistress now.
I hadn’t felt this sick since June when Sabrina and Mia almost got me onto the London Eye.
I opened my laptop and clicked onto Beverly’s Career page. They finally released their summer internships last night.
There was only one PR internship, but there was also a marketing analyst, branding intern, event coordinator, and a social media marketing internship available.
Would it be desperate to apply to all of them?
Ugh. I added that to the list of questions I had.
“Is this seat available?”
“Actually—” My head snapped up to say no but it was— “James!” I pushed the chair forward with my foot, urging him to sit. “How did you know I was here?”
“The group of women down the street that sent you here,” he laughed, sitting and unwinding his scarf. His silver hair was in disarray and his skin was pink from the wind as if he ran over.
“Ah, so you were looking for me?”
“Well, of course. How else would I know how your photos turned out?”
I groaned.
“Come on, we didn’t finish our conversation yesterday! I need to see Mia’s watch modeling abilities.” He rubbed his hands together.
“I wasn’t exaggerating when I said she forgot how wrists worked,” I complained, handing him my phone.
Dragging Mia to the campus gardens this week to model my watch for my presentation was my only option. Sabrina had said no before I could even finish asking.
“They can’t be that—how does one even bend their wrist like that?Why is she curling up her fingers in all of these?” He burst into laughter.
I leaned forward. “I don’t know! I didn’t even bother pulling out my actual camera because it was so bad.”
“What was her reaction?”
